When a Demon Comes Knocking
by mayflowerbel
Summary: Pathetic, awkward, kind. Unnatural, freak, mute. People have used those words to describe 2P Prussia ever since he was born. He knows all too well, that if somebody sees you as one thing, and one thing only, it's useless to try being anything else. This is his story. The story of how he became a demon. SECOND RATE: Part One, Prussia. Drabblesque. Crossposted on ao3.
1. all that lies beyond

_Most of my early life, I'd had no idea_ why _I (we) was (were) hated so much. I mean, it's not like anybody was in a rush to tell me. And I didn't actually meet any of my fellow Nations for a long, long time. So yeah._ Not _surprising._ _I sussed things out myself. Eventually._

 _When I_ did _get it, it made perfect sense. It's human nature to isolate things they don't like,_ different _things. Seems kind of stupid, but I'm the farthest you can get from human. Maybe I just don't get something about being human. I don't know. I've stopped caring, really._

 _Humans are what keeps_ him _alive, not me. Otherwise... Well. Let's just say, it would_ not be pretty. _(Not that anything ever is, with someone like me.) Anyway, I need to introduce myself. Gillen Beilschmidt, 2P of Gilbert Beilschmidt, at your service. (We're both Prussia by the way. Using human names is less confusing, see?)_

 _Careful, all that lies beyond this point is bloody and gory. No sunshine, no rainbows, and DEFINITELY no happy ever after's. But...If you really want to know about me, go right ahead. Just don't say I didn't warn you._


	2. ANOTHER DAY

WHEN A DEMON COMES KNOCKING

ANOTHER DAY

 **DISCLAIMER: The only thing I own in this is the plot and my headcanons of the 2P's.**

It was spring.

A child was drowning.

He was screaming and crying and drowning and _dying._

But not dead. Always dying, but never dead.

Gillen was used to it by now. The fear, the anger, the beatings. They would catch him, throw him in the river and leave him to die. It was just how his world worked. He was only second best after all. The knockoff counterpart to an original that didn't need improvement. He owed his entire existence- his puny, pathetic, _worthless_ existence- to his original. He would gladly take part of the pain. He deserved it after all. His counterpart didn't.

When he finally surfaced again it was night again. The sopping, shivering figure crawled out of the river, dull red eyes wet with unshed tears, pale skin tinged blue. He collapsed on the riverbank, choking, coughing water, and, finally, gasping. The child simply laid there, staring at the stars, until dawn. Then, with a heavy sigh, he dragged himself up, knees still knocking together from the chilly air.

It was another normal day.

* * *

It was summer.

A boy was crying.

Hood pulled low over his head, long white locks dripping softly around his face, dull red eyes obscured by a veil of tears. The boy was leaning against a wall, cloaked in shadows. How he remained unseen was unclear, given his all white clothing. Maybe it was the eerily silent way in which he wept, all tears, no hiccups or gasps or howls. Maybe it was the way the shadows clung to him, shielded him from view, almost seeming protective. Maybe it was his soundless way of movement. No matter what it was, all the people went straight past him, as if he wasn't even there.

'I don't understand,' Gillen whispered hoarsely. 'Why do they hate me so much? Why are they so afraid? _What am I doing wrong?'_

He knew he wasn't like his counterpart, knew he was second rate, but that didn't mean he deserved to be treated like a demon! He was doing his best to fulfil his duty as a nation personification, couldn't they see that? Gillen curled further into himself, barely even wincing as his whole body flared with pain. The white material covering him slid from his arm. The bones were already whole, muscles, tissue and flesh knitting itself together.

It wasn't the first time this happened and it wouldn't be the last.

Another day was beginning.


	3. THE DAY THEY MET

THE DAY THEY MET

It was summer.

A young 2P Nation was walking down the street.

Gillen looked about ten years of age. He had his customary white cloak on, hood pulled low over his face. Under the night time sky, with even the stars and moon hidden from view, he stood out as the sole splash of white. It didn't bother him by now. Not like it used to.

Gillen sighed, briefly closing his eyes. Glorious, glorious, silence. No human bustle, no yelling, just him. Him and the crickets. Just the way he liked it. Gillen was a loner, both by nature and out of simple necessity. Silence suited him, cloaked him in its comfort. In its pure familiarity.

Of course, that was when the silence was broken.

Harsh, panting, breaths, feet slapping the ground, human heart thundering, human blood pumping. Gillen scrunched his brows in annoyance. Red eyes peeled open and peered into the night. Sure enough, a human boy was running from pursuers. It would a simple enough matter to cloak himself and let them pass by, remaining unseen himself. It was none of his business, after all.

 _To this day, Gillen doesn't know why he did what he did. He agonized over it countless hours. Over that fateful first meeting. What would have happened had he just let those people pass?_

As soon as the boy reached him, Gillen grabbed his arm in a vice grip. Nation-strong hands encircled the boy's arm. That inhuman grip stopped the boy in his tracks. He stared, eyes blown wide, mouth open in a silent scream.

Gillen stared back. Calmly, he let his cloak of shadows and silence, (one of the nation-powers he'd _finally_ gained control over) widen to include the boy. Not saying a word, he stood and waited. The boy, perhaps too shocked and terrified, didn't say a word either. Didn't struggle.

As soon as the pursuers were far enough away, he let the boy go. The human scrambled away, as if burned.

'W-who... w-what... _why..._ ' he stuttered.

Gillen smirked.

'Well, hello there, human.'


	4. MURDER DAY

MURDER DAY

 **Warning: if you're squeamish, skip the bits in bold. There's blood and guts and gore.**

It was summer.

A figure in white was looming, unseen.

Shadow and silence enveloped him, cloaked him in their familiarity. He was standing beside a bed, watching. The _ant_ that presumed itself a god was snoring in its sleep. Gillen's eyes narrowed, in disgust, in _hatred._ This man - no the _ant -_ was one of those who frequently found... issue... with the young nation's looks. The most ardent in chasing him and drowning him.

He'd had his suspicions, but actually seeing him close up...

Gillen smirked. The edges of bloodthirst, of _other_ , were unsettling to see on such an inhumanly beautiful face.

 **The prey doesn't get any warning. The Nation's hand swooped out and _thrust_ into human flesh. Gillen delighted in the squelching sound produced. The prey gasped** **and choked. It's eyes snapped open. Gillen's hand wriggled inside blood and flesh, just short of hitting vital organs. It's not satisfying if the prey doesn't even _suffer_.**

'Hello, _scum._ Beautiful night for murder, don't you think?' he greeted, a forcibly cheerful tone in his voice.

The prey choked and babbled and whined.

Gillen's smirk widened.

'Remember me? The demon boy?'

The prey's wide eyes tell him it does.

'Remember the _other_ boy whose life you ruined?' Gillen continued.

The prey only choked more. The Nation sighed and shook his head, mocking.

'I don't know what I expected really. Oh well. If you don't, you will soon enough.'

 **Gillen sliced downward, revealing glistening guts. Blood-scent bloomed in the air. He removed his hand, now covered in thick, red,** human **blood. The _prey's_ SCREAM is music to his ears.**

'Now, now, don't strain yourself. Nobody will hear you no matter how loudly you scream for help.'

Madness _blazed_ in dull red eyes.

* * *

 _It didn't take much for me to slip. We 2P nations are quite fragile in mind. Want to know how it happened? Brace yourself. There will be pain._


End file.
